


the summer you let your hair grow out

by jk_rockin



Category: Bandom, Glee, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alley Sex, Crossover, Gay Panic, M/M, Underage Drinking, what is this I don't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jk_rockin/pseuds/jk_rockin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sneaking into a bar is no big deal. Dave broke six foot at fifteen, and started needing to shave not long after; he's been buying beer for the guys for ages, even before Azimio's brother got them fake IDs. Still. He gets a few days' worth of scruff going, throws on clean jeans and a Red Wings hoodie, and tries to look mature and law-abiding as he hands the bouncer his license- like of course, he's 23, and he's not fucking terrified to be setting foot in a gay bar.</p><p>or, Bob Bryar is running sound in a gay bar in Ohio. Dave Karofsky comes into that gay bar, and happens to recognise him. And then they had sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the summer you let your hair grow out

**Author's Note:**

> This story- well, about three quarters of this story- has been sitting in my unfinished fic folder for heaven knows how long. I figured it wasn’t going to finish itself, so… here it is. Whatever it is. I have no idea where this came from. Hot butch dudes hooking up! That’s a legitimate theme, right?
> 
> Set somewhere between the end of season 3 of _Glee_ (i.e. where I stopped watching it) and whenever it was Bob Bryar moved to the backwoods, bought a gun, grew a terrible beard, and started collecting dogs. I don't know where Alex the bartender came from; he just sort of showed up.
> 
> Title from _The summer You Let Your Hair Grow Out_ by Pansy Division, because... yes.

Sneaking into a bar is no big deal. Dave broke six foot at fifteen, and started needing to shave not long after; he's been buying beer for the guys for ages, even before Azimio's brother got them fake IDs. Still. He gets a few days' worth of scruff going, throws on clean jeans and a Red Wings hoodie, and tries to look mature and law-abiding as he hands the bouncer his license- like of course, he's 23, and he's not fucking terrified to be setting foot in a gay bar.

It's a Thursday. It's kind of quiet. That's- is that good? Not busy means no crowd to hide in, but it's not overwhelming, at least. He's had nightmares where he walks into someplace like this, that just looks like a regular bar, only to find himself in a sea of bodies like something out of Queer as Folk. As he moves through the crowd, every sweaty, pretty face turns towards him, laughing, sneering, calling insults, pulling at his clothes, only he can't push them off because there're so many and every one is Hummel or Hummel's boyfriend or Hummel or Hummel and they get louder and louder-

Anyway. This is just a bar. There's a dart board, some pool tables. Some guys, drinking. Even a jukebox, though it doesn't look like it's plugged in. There's a guy in a black hoodie fiddling with a big speaker box over on the stage in the corner. Normal.

Dave takes a seat at the bar, trying to look nonchalant, like, hey, he drinks in gay bars all the time. No big. The guy behind the bar comes over. He's average height, good looking- looks a little like Puckerman, actually- and Dave forces his eyes up off the guy's tight black shirt, back up to his face.

"What can I get you?" he asks, flipping his towel over his shoulder.

"A beer," says Dave. "Whatever's on tap."

The bartender nods, grabbing a glass. Dave watches him pour- it makes the tattoos on his arms shift, and Dave swallows, mouth dry. Shit, he thinks, too obvious, but when he looks up, the guy smiles a little. Like he noticed Dave checking him out, and doesn't mind. Like he maybe kind of liked it.

"So," he says, handing Dave his beer. "Not from around here?"

Dave blinks, surprised. "Kinda," he says. "I'm from- I'm not from here. Columbus, I mean."

"Thought not," the bartender says. "Not that you look un-Columbus, but you've never been in here before." He gives Dave a little grin, tongue between his teeth. "I'd remember."

Dave really hopes he's not blushing. He doesn't like his chances, though, because _a hot gay bartender with tattoos is flirting with him_. Unprecedented, and equal parts terrifying and awesome. He can't tell if he wants to run, sock the guy in the nose, or do a victory dance. He settles for sipping his beer, and hoping his face isn't doing anything stupid. "You're, uh, getting your sound system repaired?"

"Replaced," the guy says. "The old one, I'm pretty sure, was installed by dinosaurs. Who, as it turns out, can't wire up speakers for shit."

"Really?" Dave drinks another swig of beer. "Velociraptors are pretty smart, man. They've got those flexible claws-"

"Alright, wise guy," the bartender says, but he's still grinning. "I'm Alex."

"Dave." He tips his glass at him in salute. He's not even halfway through it, but he thinks the beer is helping; the tang of alcohol is tamping down the fear in his gut. He's still feeling skittish, but the beer, the talking shit with a hot guy who happens to be gay- who knows Dave is, knows that Dave-

Okay, so no, he's still freaking out. The beer is helping a little, but he's still underage in a gay bar with a cute bartender who's either having a slow night on tips or thinks Dave is cute, too, and that's scary. And awesome.

"You like music?" Alex asks. Dave shrugs noncommittally. "I want to get bands in, like, on weekends. The paleolithic PA wasn't gonna cut it, so when I found out my buddy Bob was in town, I bribed him to set up something better for me."

"That's cool," says Dave, nodding.

"Well, it was that or a stripper pole," Alex sighs.

"I'm telling you, man," says a voice from behind Dave. "The pole was the way to go." The guy in the black hoodie sits down on the stool to Dave's left, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "Everybody likes tits and ass."

Alex wrinkles his nose. "Maybe just ass," he says. "Bob, this is my new friend Dave. Dave, meet Bob."

"Holy shit," says Dave. "You're Bob Bryar." He is. He's a little older than he looks on Dave's sister's bedroom wall, hair a little longer, but it's definitely him- blonde, bearded, lip ring. Belatedly, he realises he's staring. "Sorry, that was creepy. My sister's a huge My Chem fan."

If Bob's perturbed by awkward guys babbling at him, he doesn't show it. He ducks his head and smiles, a little ruefully. "Younger sister?"

"Older sister," says Dave. "You're her favourite drummer. She threw a chair across the living room when she heard you left MCR." Bob's expression goes a little tight; out of the corner of his eye, Dave sees Alex purse his lips. He clears his throat, tries to backtrack. "What brings you to Ohio?"

"Couchsurfing," Bob says. "M'sort of on extended vacation. Thought I'd visit some friends."

"Mooching across the Midwest," says Alex grandly. "Eating me out of house and home, occupying my guest room-"

"Setting up a professional quality sound rig free of charge," Bob supplies.

"I take cash, sexual favours, and audio engineering." Alex shrugs. "You picked."

"Pour me a beer," says Bob. "Dave, you want a refill?" Dave nods. Alex rolls his eyes, and sets about pouring drinks; Bob turns back to Dave. "What about you? You local?"

"No, uh," Dave says, "I'm just. I'm from a tiny, crappy town west of here, called Lima. You probably haven't heard of it."

"I haven't," Bob agrees. "I'm guessing it's short on gay bars."

"There's one. Haven't been."

Bob nods, like he gets it. Like he's actually giving half a crap about Dave, which, while kind of cool, is also sort of intimidating. This guy is _famous_ , and he's nodding and _listening to Dave talk_. "Sorry," he says, taking a drink- when did Alex come back with the beers?- "I'm not that good at the small talk thing, I guess."

Bob huffs a laugh. "Me neither." He takes a long swallow of beer. Dave studiously pretends he isn't watching his throat work, or watching his long fingers, damp against the glass. "I could probably use the practice. What do you do? Work, study, what?"

Dave blinks. He clears his throat again. "I’m taking some classes,” he says, and he doesn’t say _in high school_ , “and working part time,” and he doesn’t say _only on weekends because I’m in high school_.

“What’s your focus?”

“Math,” Dave says. “Mostly. I’m still taking a few other things, but I’m looking at engineering.” _If I get into a good college._

They talk for a bit. Bob is quiet, but not unfriendly, and he listens. Putting together Gay Part-Time Engineering Student Dave is easy- Straight Asshole Karofsky is more work, honestly- and making shit up, telling half-truths, he’s good at that. He’s got practice. Dave thinks he likes the sound of the guy who’s talking to Bob, actually. He seems like a nice guy.

Bob drains the last of his beer. “I should probably- the foldbacks are still in the truck, so. We’ve got some guys coming in on Saturday, I should get this done.”

Feeling clumsy, Dave says, “You want a hand? I don’t know shit about sound systems, but I can lift stuff.”

Bob looks at him for a long moment. Dave’s just about to wave it off, no big deal, when Bob nods, slow. “Sure, yeah. Come on.”

\-----

Dave follows the dark shape of Bob out into the alley behind the bar. He waits for Bob to unlock his car, takes the biggest speakerbox, and carries it back to the stage in the corner. Alex laughs at them, but whatever; Dave is good at lifting stuff around, and for all Bob doesn't say much, he's pretty good company. Plus, y'know. Famous hot guy.

Dave's allowed to think Bob is hot. Gay College Guy Dave would think Bob is hot.

He carries all the speakers into the bar, and then sits around watching Bob fiddle with shit, asking questions and moving things as needed. It's kind of cool, actually. Bob gets all focused on his work, but not in a douchey way- he just really knows what he's doing, and that's fun to watch. So when after an hour or so he brushes his hands off and says he's done, Dave can't help but feel disappointed. It must show on his face, because Bob nudges a shoulder against his and says “You want another beer? Might as well get maximum mooching value.”

Dave nods, follows Bob to the bar, and accepts another beer- a bottle this time, but he's not complaining- without comment from Alex, who shoots Bob a knowing look before wandering away to serve someone else.

“You should probably know, most of my friends are assholes,” Bob says idly.

“Oh yeah?”

“ _That_ asshole,” he says, pointing at Alex with his beer, “thinks I'm hitting on you.”

Dave's mouth goes dry. He takes a quick sip of beer. “You hit on guys in his bar a lot?”

Bob shrugs. “I don't hit on guys a lot anywhere.”

“Oh, so you're not hitting on me?” Before he has time to say anything else stupid, Dave feels Bob's eyes flick over him, quick, considering. He's blushing, he's gotta be, but that look- that's not a fuck off look. Dave knows _fuck off_. That look was more like _hmm_.

“I'm probably too old for you,” Bob says. The tips of his ears are pink.

Fuck it. It's not just the beer- it's the beer a little bit, sure, but it's also the flush creeping up Bob's neck, the way he licks his lips, the reckless compulsion that got Dave into his car and drove him a hundred miles out of town to drink beer in a shitty gay bar in Columbus. Dave leans back just a little bit, sips his beer, and gives Bob a look up and down, like he's thinking about it. “You look alright to me,” he says.

Bob gives him another look in return, not quite a _hmm_. More like an _I wonder if_. “How long're you in Columbus?” he asks, voice neutral.

“Planning to drive home tonight.”

“It's kinda late.” Bob raises an eyebrow. “Alex's place is a couple blocks from here, if you wanted to crash. Sleep off the beers. He won't mind.”

“He doesn't,” Alex calls from the other end of the bar. “In fact, he insists.” Bob flips him off.

“I- yeah, alright,” Dave says. “If you're sure.”

Bob claps him on the shoulder, draining the last third of his beer. “Let me go pack up my shit, and we can go when you're ready,” he says, and gets up, heading back over to the stage.

Dave drinks slowly. He is probably too drunk to drive, but it's not too cold to sleep in his car, and if he leaves now- but no, that's shitty. He doesn't even know if that was a come-on. He might just be being nice, and Dave's getting all worked up over nothing. And if it _is_ , if Bob wants that- if Bob wants _Dave_ , would that be bad?

“Don't be an asshole,” says Alex. Dave startles, blinking, and Alex quirks a lip at him, fond and sort of sad. “If you're eyeing the door because you're not interested and you want to turn him down, just tell him. But if the frankly adorable flirting you two have been doing all night is because you like him, let me tell you: yeah, he's hitting on you, and that isn't something Bob does a lot.”

“I wasn't, I just-”

“Yeah, you were.” Alex sighs, leaning on the bar. “You're- if it's not too personal, how out are you? One foot out of the closet? Door propped open?”

“More like peeking out the keyhole,” Dave mutters.

Alex nods. “Thought so. Now be honest, kid- do you want to hit that?” Dave nods minutely. “Then stop being a douche. If you're not interested or not comfortable or not ready, those are good reasons. If you're having gay panic, that's not a good reason to bail on a hot guy who's spent the evening eyeing you off like a good steak.”

Dave looks down at the glass in his shaking hands, and then turns to look over to where Bob is winding up leads. As he looks at Bob, Bob looks up, and when their eyes meet, Bob grins.

\-----

Bob lights a cigarette as they step outside. The flare of his lighter makes his face glow for a second, features sharp in the dark. Dave watches him inhale. He keeps watching Bob as they walk, both because Bob is good to watch and because he still doesn't know what they're doing, here. Is he just- crashing on the couch? Is Bob expecting him to make a move? He's pretty sure there are, like, gay rules for this stuff, but they don't teach that shit or put it in movies. There should be a list you can Google or something- How To Tell When A Dude Wants To Do You And When He's Just Being A Bro- so stupid jerks like Dave don't mess it up.

“Pretty sure this is more than a couple blocks,” he ventures.

“Artistic license,” Bob mutters around a mouthful of smoke. “We're going the long way so you've got a little more time to process or panic or whatever.”

“I'm not-”

“I used to tour with emo bands, man.” Bob's smirk is a little wistful, a lot knowing. “You think I don't know pre-hookup jitters when I see 'em?”

Pre-hookup. As in Bob wants to hook up.

They turn down an alley, and in the half-light, when he looks at Bob, Bob's looking right back at him. Dave turns, puts a hand on Bob's shoulder; crowding him against the wall feels easy, and Bob just goes, leaning into the touch like that's easy, too. He's got this look on his face like he's about to make another smartass comment, so Dave just kisses him. Bob's hands come up, flicking his cigarette to the ground, curling around Dave's back and into his hair to pull him closer, so obviously into it that Dave can't help but groan into his mouth and push him harder against the wall. That seems to work too, because Bob pushes back but doesn't stop kissing him, licking smoky-hot into Dave's mouth like they've got all night to make out in this dirty alley.

After a little bit, Dave's neck starts to hurt from the angle. Bob's not really tiny or anything, but Dave's sort of big, so he has to tilt his head and hunch his shoulders. If Bob were a little taller, or higher up- on a box or something? He doesn't want to say something and sound like a douche, but just putting Bob where he wants him has worked out okay so far.

"Can you just- goddamnit." Dave slides his hands under Bob's thighs and hauls him up. His legs spread, gripping Dave's waist to brace between Dave's body and the wall. Bob makes a hoarse noise and leans in to kiss Dave again.

"So much for that innocent virgin act, shit," Bob mutters. Dave laughs, squeezing Bob's hip. "Thought I might have to walk you through it."

"Might still have to." Dave leans his forehead against Bob's, breathing him in. He smells like slightly sweaty dude; equal parts familiar and shockingly sexy. "I haven't, uh. The gay thing is mostly theoretical so far."

Bob's hips roll up into Dave's, a directional nudge. "Do I need to explain how a dick works?"

Dave swallows roughly. "I can probably figure something out," he says, and moves his hand from Bob's hip to just over his fly. He hesitates, just for a second, panic fluttering in his chest again, but no, fuck that. Hot guy asking Dave to touch him trumps gay panic. He swallows again, takes a breath, and pops open the button on Bob's fly. Getting his zip down and getting his hand into Bob's boxers feels like it takes forever, but all of a sudden his fingers hit hot skin and Dave's getting his first handful of another guy's dick.

With his hand in Bob's pants he can't do much more than stroke with his fingers, so he takes a moment to shove Bob's boxers out of the way and pull his dick out. When he finally gets a hand around it and starts stroking, Bob makes an awesome noise and arches off the wall, pushing his cock into Dave's fist. "Fuck, yeah, that's it. Doing good, kid."

"Don't call me kid," Dave grumbles. He's not really paying attention- he's distracted by the hot, solid weight of Bob's cock in his hand, and the soft insistent noises Bob's making, not quite words. Bob's pushy, too, murmuring for Dave to touch him harder and faster. "Jesus, you're bossy."

"Yeah, let's debate power dynamics while you pin me against a wall," Bob says, rolling his eyes. "Can I touch you now?"

"Nobody's stopping you," says Dave, grinning shakily. He's been hard like crazy since Bob kissed him back, and now, with Bob's weight on his thighs and his beard rasping over his cheek, he's so turned on he can hardly see straight. Bob drops a hand from his shoulder to palm over Dave's crotch, huffing a laugh when Dave nearly bucks him off, and makes short work of his belt and fly. His fingers skim over Dave's boxers once, twice, before dipping into the slit and pulling out Dave's cock.

Don't come, Dave tells himself, don't come, and don't pass out the second someone touches your dick, either. Not jizzing all over himself or fainting like Scarlett O'Hara isn't easy, though, because Bob has long, clever fingers, with callouses that drag just right as he works Dave's cock over in strong, even pulls. His own hand stutters on Bob's cock, grip tightening, making Bob buck and curse.

"Fuck, like that," Bob breathes, right in Dave's ear. His beard rasps against Dave's stubbly cheek. "Just like- ow, fuck." Dave pulls back, worried. "No, no, don't stop, it's just my stupid wrist," Bob says, twisting his wrist to shake out the cramp.

"Are you- do we need to stop?"

"No," Bob growls. "Don't you dare. Just give me a sec, I'll be fine."

Dave has an idea, actually. It might not work, in which case he'll look like an ass, but Bob had him pegged as a nervous virgin from the get-go and is still letting Dave touch him, so. "Let me try something?"

Bob nods. He lets Dave move him up and back a little, making a soft, shocked noise when he gets what's happening, followed by a chest-deep moan as Dave's hand wraps around both their cocks together. Dave whimpers too, high and helpless. It feels- the dudes in porn don't look all that overwhelmed when they do this, but the hot slide of Bob's skin against his, the feel of both of them together in his hand, the tight fit and the friction are so ridiculously good he can't believe it. He has to kiss Bob again, and when he does Bob makes another delicious whining noise and pushes his hips up against Dave's, hard.

Panic or no gay panic, it's a miracle he hasn't come already, so when he feels it start to happen he just bites at Bob's lip and rides it out. Bob takes a little longer, but not much- he thrusts a few times, muffling quiet gasps against Dave's cheek, and comes all over both of them just as Dave's starting to go soft and uncomfortably sensitive.

They stay like that, kissing idly between breaths, until Dave's thighs start to ache, and he remembers abruptly that they're _in an alley_. Probably not the best place to savour the afterglow. He shifts, trying to set Bob down gently; Bob takes the hint, sliding down onto his feet again, and dabbing at the mess of come between them with the hem of his hoodie. "Guess you've gotta come back with me now," he says, voice just slightly rough. "Can't send you home covered in spunk."

Dave's got a spare shirt in his car, actually, but he's not totally clueless. He wipes the worst of the jizz off on his shirt and zips his jeans, but doesn't bother buttoning them. "I guess not. Is it actually a couple of blocks from here?"

Bob grins, and knocks his shoulder against Dave's, turning him towards the mouth of the alley. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Just as well- Dave might have done something stupid like try to hold his hand, otherwise. "Just around the corner," he says, and when he starts walking, Dave follows.


End file.
